Anonymous
by Elvarya
Summary: Aziraphale is the shy, quiet boy who nobody really knows. He sits in the corner and reads, and definitely doesn't have any friends. But somehow, he manages to catch the attention of the mysterious Crowley. Crowziraphale High School!AU. Rated T for now
1. Chapter 1

I don't know how or why this happened. Suddenly, I just had to write Crowziraphale HS!AU (partly because I'm addicted to HS!AU) so yeah. I don't know where the hell this is going, but I'm excited! Also, I'll just state this from the outset. I'm American. I know it's a British book, but I'm not British. I'm writing this based on the American schooling system, and I'll probably end up using American slang, even when I don't really realize it. Just thought I'd give you all a heads up.

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><p>In the scheme of things, Aziraphale was pretty anonymous. He didn't have any particular label. He wasn't even part of the group of nobodies. He was below them. At most, he was "that weird kid with the weird name."<p>

And he was mostly content with that, really. He kept slightly above average grades, didn't speak much, didn't draw attention to himself. He did just enough to fly in the nondescript area between the radars of the slackers and the overachievers.

It all started on his birthday. Not that anyone really noticed. He got a card in the mail with a twenty tucked into it from his brother, and his parents made a huge ordeal, though there wasn't really much family they could invite over. He got a couple new books, though. First editions, and still in good condition. He was happy with that.

School always sucked on his birthday, though. His school had a policy of informing the teachers of student birthdays, and having them announce it during the classes. At the least, people looked around in confusion as teachers tripped over his name, and at best, some sympathetic soul mumbled a "happy birthday" which brought on a new level of awkward.

But he was fine. Really.

It didn't just start on his birthday. Most specifically, it started in school, third period gym class. It was like every other gym class. Run three laps, then they'd move on to whatever they were doing that day. And as usual, Aziraphale, the short kid who wasn't so much fat as round and soft, as he liked to think of himself, was the last to finish laps. He could feel their gazes burning into him as he completed the run, wheezing as he came to a stop beside the waiting group of students. They didn't like to be kept waiting, that much was obvious.

Next, they were all supposed to grab a jump rope and start jumping. Aziraphale limped over to the rack, only to be cornered by three seniors. He knew some of their names. Adam was the leader, along with his girlfriend, Pepper, and the other guy had a name that Aziraphale could never really remember, but he knew to rival his own in strangeness and complexity. All other students were already spread out across the floor of the gymnasium, jumping rope and occasionally tripping themselves. No one would notice three large figures picking on the nerd. And if they did, why would they care?

"You really kept us waiting there, Azirale," Adam, the largest of the lot, sneered, backing him right up to the wall. It was no surprise he got the name right. He'd been calling him that since freshman year.

"I-I'm sorry Adam," he stuttered back.

"Y-y-you're sorry?" Adam taunted with a laugh, followed by a raucous laugh from his lackies. "You're really pathetic, you know that?"

Aziraphale started stuttering again, worse than before. Oh, he wished he could just melt into the floor, disappear completely. That, or have the bravery to lash back at Adam. That would be the day.

"Oh, shut up, you lot," a voice said. Aziraphale couldn't see the speaker, partly because he'd squeezed his eyes shut as Adam had pulled his arm back to unleash some kind of abuse upon the short blond, and partly because, well, he was short, and Adam was practically Goliath, towering above him.

The three in front of him moved aside to view the speaker. Of course, everyone present immediately recognized him. His name was Crowley. No one really knew his first name, he always just went by Crowley; even the teachers called him that. Endless talk and rumors flew around about the guy, but nothing was ever certain. He spent most of his time with the ramshackle group of geeks, goths, and greasers, and usually had sunglasses on, for some strange, unknown reason.

Aziraphale hadn't once heard him talk unless he was forced to in a class, which was rarely. So he had no clue what could have prompted the guy to stop the group from grinding his bones to a bloody paste.

"What do you want, Crowley?" Adam demanded. His arm was still poised to strike, and Aziraphale was still trapped in the corner.

"Oh, I'm just trying to figure out what you could want with poor Aziraphale here." Aziraphale was pretty sure that was the first time he'd heard someone other than a member of his own family say his name without tripping over it. Where had he even heard it well enough to know how to pronounce it? It wasn't as if they had many classes together.

"Well, that's none of your business, is it?"

"But Zira isn't going to stop you, is he?" That caught Aziraphale's attention. Zira? Where had _that_ come from.

Adam and Crowley proceeded to have what seemed to be a scowling staring contest. After about five silent seconds, each beat of Aziraphale's heart beating loud and slowly in his ears, Adam's arm dropped and he backed off, freeing him from the corner.

"Not worth it, really," he declared, and walked away, grabbing a jump rope from the rack as he went.

"What was that for?" Aziraphale quietly inquired. He couldn't bring himself to meet Crowley's eyes - or sunglasses.

Instead of answering the question, Crowley replied with another question. "What's your name mean?"

"I-It's the name of an angel," Aziraphale stuttered, unsure what he was supposed to say.

"Angel, huh?" Crowley repeated. "Your family religious?"

"Yeah, you could say that." He was getting a bit more confident in his words, though it didn't quell the confusion. Crowley was talking to _him? Why?_

"I don't like seeing asshole pick on weaker people," Crowley stated. "So I decided that I wasn't going to let them. You have any problems, Angel, you tell me. I'll take care of it."

"Angel?" Aziraphale asked, even more confused, as Crowley turned away.

"See you around," Crowley said with a smirk and walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

Whoo, the bromance is actually starting now! I meant to make this longer... but I am just going to throw you at you guys :3

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><p>More than anything, Aziraphale was a creature of habit. Every morning, he sat in the same place, in the nook where two walls met the stone bench that ran the length on of of the walls in the entry-way. No one bothered him, and he usually tucked his legs under him and read for the half and hour before the bell signaled the start of the school day. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd spoken to anyone from that spot, and all of those incidents were from freshman year, before his fellow students had blocked him out of their minds and thoughts, as the kid who did and said nothing.<p>

The anonymous kid.

And that's where he was the next morning. Curled up with his tattered copy of 1984, about halfway through it, rereading it again; he'd long since lost count of how many times he'd read it. He had a tendency to get sucked into a book, and to not notice anything going on around him, which was why he didn't notice Crowley approaching until the guy was looming above him with a smirk, blocking out the light, and saying, "Spoiler alert, Winston dies."

Aziraphale looked up to him with a glare as Crowley took a seat next to him, completely unfazed.

"You know, spoiler alerts usually give a person time to object to the upcoming spoiler," he said pointedly.

"Angel, it doesn't count as a spoiler if you've read the bloody book before," Crowley denoted. "And judging by how beat up that book is, you've got it memorized."

"How do you know it's my copy?" he challenged.

Crowley just had to give him an "are you serious?" look in reply. Aziraphale tried to refocus on his book, but Crowley's mere presence was serving to distract him.

"Can I help you with something, Crowley?" he asked, carefully placing his bookmark on the page and closing the book, folding his arms and pulling the book to his chest.

"I'm not allowed to say hello?" He feigned offence.

"Okay, you are. Mission accomplished. Is that it?"

"Zira, I'm offended! I saved you from being pummeled yesterday, and I take the time to interact with you today. Doesn't that at least get me a thank you or something."

"Thank you. That it?"

Crowley's gaze fell. "I see how it is. I guess I'll just-"

Aziraphale was instantly flooded with guilt. He reached out and caught Crowley's arm as he started to go. "No, Crowley, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so rude."

Crowley turned back with a grin, all trace of hurt gone from his features. Of course. He reclaimed his seat. "I knew you wouldn't let me leave all brokenhearted like that, Angel!"

"Okay, what's with the angel thing?"

"Would you prefer 'Zira?'"

"Why are you calling me by nicknames?" Aziraphale clarified.

"Well, nicknames are usually considered to be a sign of endearment, and your name can be a bit of a mouthful…"

"Endearment?" Aziraphale repeated. "What do you mean, endearment?"

Crowley smirked. "You have a lot to learn, Angel."


End file.
